


Like Seahorses

by ByeByePlatypi (cleverboot)



Series: Trousers of Time [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Slash, discussion about (but no actual) mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-14
Updated: 2011-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:03:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleverboot/pseuds/ByeByePlatypi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy scowled at him. "Just because your mother and that lot of second-year girls in your fan club told you so, doesn’t make it true, Oliver."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Seahorses

**Author's Note:**

> This is AU. Technically, it's a dramatically different 'verse, but in this particular story, the only really important things to know are that Percy is a Slytherin and Sluggie never "retired" as Potions professor. Written for schmoop_bingo ages ago, but I was lazy and never submitted it. The prompt was for "pregnancy (male or female)", but there's no actual pregnancy of either kind in here.

Oliver leaned backwards in his chair, making it tilt to balance on its hind legs. He sighed, bored, and doodled a tiny cartoon snitch on the corner of the page of Potions notes sitting in front of him. There were so many other things—vastly more entertaining things—he would rather be doing at the moment than sitting in the library, pretending to study. Because _honestly_. It was a sunny Sunday afternoon, one of the first really warm days of the spring, the Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff match was only three weeks away, and Oliver wanted to be outside practicing, getting his team ready.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Oliver looked up from his doodles, sheepish but trying not to look like it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Percy’s eyes flicked up, peering at him blandly over the top of his glasses from across the table. He simply watched Oliver silently for several seconds and then his eyes went back to his own Potions notes. “Of course you don’t.” There was a pause and Oliver had started doodling a quaffle and a pair of bludgers to go with his previous masterpiece when Percy added, “You do realize, of course, that if you don’t get a decent mark on this quiz, you’re going to be put on academic probation and you won’t be able to play in the match at all, right?”

Oliver grunted and let his chair thump back down to stand on all four legs again. “I do, as a matter of fact, oh Tutor Mine, but it’s always nice to be reminded,” he replied. “Again.”

Percy hummed in a pleasant, agreeing tone, though he did not look up from his studying. “I live to serve.”

Oliver sighed, unhappy but resigned. “Alright, alright. No Quidditch.” He really was horribly bored, though. Then, as he scratched his ear, an idea occurred to him. “But…” He shot the redhead across the table a look, both hopeful and mischievous at the same time. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take a study break for now and go make out in the Restricted Section? I _know_ you’ve got a pass, because you’re you and Madam Pince wants to adopt you, and all of the sane people are outside enjoying the sunshine, so we’d likely have it to ourselves.” Oliver grinned at him. “What do you say?”

Percy gave him an assessing look, apparently giving the suggestion some thought. Oliver crossed his fingers under the table. He really was very bored of Potions for the time being. “How about this,” Percy said after a moment. “I test you on some of the things Professor Slughorn said are definitely going to be on the quiz, and if you answer to my, erm, _satisfaction_ …” And though he made a valiant attempt at keeping a straight face, the tips of Percy’s ears flushed dark pink and Oliver felt extremely encouraged. It was a promising sign. “Well, if you manage that, I’ll see about rewarding you properly. Deal?”

Nodding, Oliver felt his grin widen. “Deal.”

Course of action decided, Percy nodded to himself and closed his Potions text over his notes and placed his arms on top, attention now entirely focused on Oliver, who noted that Percy apparently did not need to refer to his book in order to ask him questions. Oliver fought back an envious—but manly—pout. Stupid, brilliant Percy. “Notes away,” the redhead ordered.

Oliver complied, if somewhat reluctantly, and folded his hands together in front of him, meeting Percy’s gaze. “Shoot.”

Percy’s eyes narrowed as he continued to study Oliver, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, evidently enjoying the prospect of a challenge. “Name the two categories of potions in which Jobberknoll feathers are used,” he asked.

Oliver licked his lips absently, thinking. “Truth serums and…” _Something._ Something sort of related to truth serums, but not really. Jobberknoll feathers were a restricted ingredient at Hogwarts and students needed to have Professor Slughorn’s approval before they could take any out of the student store-cupboard because… something to do with reducing the possibility of cheating… “Oh,” he said, remembering. “Truth serums and memory potions.”

Percy nodded. “Correct. Name four ingredients of Polyjuice Potion.”

This one was easier. “Fluxweed, lacewing flies, knotgrass and snake—er, boomslang skin.”

Cocking an eyebrow, Percy gave him an amused look. “Nice catch.” Oliver nodded his head and gestured for the redhead to continue. “What’s the ingredient that counteracts hellebore’s poisonous aspects in most of the world’s most common commercial brand hangover cures, thereby making them safe for human consumption?”

“Ah, bugger,” Oliver muttered. One of those questions that required actual thought instead of just being able to rattle off memorized ingredient listings. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He chewed on his lip for a minute, trying to think of when they had gone over analgesic and other non-critical medicinal potions. It had been… _fuck_. It had been back in November, the week before the Gryffindor-Slytherin game, hadn’t it? When Percy had to have known that Oliver’s mind would have been anywhere other than Potions class. “You only asked this question because you’re still mad that Slytherin lost that game, didn’t you?” Oliver accused.

Percy shrugged, blatantly unashamed at his underhanded tactics. “That’s neither here nor there, is it? Answer the question, Oliver.”

He glared at the redheaded Slytherin, who merely continued to look at him expectantly. Oliver sighed and took a wild stab at it. “Leech juice.”

“Incorrect,” Percy replied, just like Oliver knew he would. “The correct answer would be lovage.”

“Dammit,” Oliver said as he felt his snogging opportunities start to slip away. “More questions, then!” He demanded. He could get his average back up. He just had to try harder. And he had plenty of motivation. _‘More studying vs. feeling up Perce in the Restricted Section,’_ he told himself sternly. _‘More studying vs. possible blowjobs. Come on, Wood! Blowjobs good, studying boring. Don’t bollocks this up, you can do it!’_

Percy, who looked as though he knew exactly what Oliver was thinking, gave him that amused look again. “Alright then. More questions it is. What colour is a properly brewed Amortentia supposed to be?”

Hardly any thought required for that one. “Mother of pearl.” Oliver wondered at the easy question and contemplated the possibility that perhaps Percy was almost as much in the mood for a go right now as he was. He fought down a playful smirk that tried to sneak onto his face.

Nodding again, Percy replied, “Correct.” He paused for a moment, tapping a finger idly on the table, putting some thought into the next question. He was starting to lose focus, Oliver decided with a silent cheer. He was getting to him. Excellent. Snogging possibilities were once again starting to look promising. “Okay. If I were using unicorn hair, pomegranate and dong quai together in a potion,” Percy asked after a moment, “what am I making?”

Oliver was silent for a few moments. He knew this one. Dong quai, dong quai… Oh, yes. He chuckled. “Babies.” Percy said nothing, just _looked_ at him, and Oliver rolled his eyes, clarifying. “Fertility potion.”

“Correct.”

Cheered up—he was now four for five, after all—Oliver tilted his chair backwards onto its hind legs again. “I’ve put some thought into that particular subject before, you know,” he commented idly.

Percy looked at him in a way that could only be described as cautiously questioning. “Oh?”

Oliver nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yeah. What’s not to be interested in? Sex, babies, so on. Who doesn’t like sex and babies, right?” He grinned over at the Slytherin. “Want to know what I decided?”

Percy’s look had become less questioning and decidedly more cautious. “What’s that?”

“When we have kids, you’re going to have to be the mum.”

Percy just looked at him, expression no longer betraying much in the way of any kind of emotion. Oliver just continued grinning at him. “That statement is just wrong on so many, _MANY_ different levels,” the redhead stated after a few moments.

“Oh, come on, Perce,” Oliver cajoled. “If we had kids, they would totally grow up and take over the world, because they would be THAT amazing. I mean, with my rugged good looks, charm, and Quidditch-playing abilities together with your brains and adorable freckles, we’ve got the makings of the perfect kid. Or kids, you know. If you want more. I’d be up for it.”

Having flushed dark red at having his freckles called adorable, Percy fought a valiant battle to keep his composure. “Okay, one: that is ridiculous,” he stated. “Two: as anybody past the age of four could tell you, it’s not biologically possible. At all. And three: what makes you think I would ever _want_ to have your rowdy, Scottish, attention-deficient, Gryffindor babies in the first place?”

Oliver scoffed. “Slytherin you may be, my friend, but you are still a Weasley. Babies are, like, your thing. Everybody knows that. Besides, you should be so lucky to have my babies. I’m considered quite a catch, you know.”

Percy scowled at him. “Just because your mother and that lot of second-year girls in your fan club told you so, doesn’t make it true, Oliver.”

“So you _don’t_ want me to father your babies?” he asked, pouting exaggeratedly. Percy rolled his eyes. It was something he did rather often around Oliver.

“Okay, once again ignoring the whole _still_ -biologically-impossible part of this ridiculous argument…” Oliver could almost feel Percy’s irritation radiating off of him. His grin got even bigger than before. It was _delightful_. “I don’t see why you would ever expect me to be the one stuck having to carry your bratlings around for nine months. If you want freckled baby Quidditch players, you can deliver them yourself and _I_ ’ll be the dad.”

Oliver, however, had no intention of relenting. He shook his head solemnly. “But Perce, Quidditch is such a dangerous sport. What if I hurt myself? And also, compared to you,” he had to add, “my eating and sleeping habits are atrocious. I shudder to think of the effects my lifestyle would have on a poor, defenceless zygote. Really, you would just be the only practical choice.”

“You cannot use the word _PRACTICAL_ in this discussion,” Percy said, vehement. “It is inapplicable. Therefore, your argument is null and void. Meaning you have to be the mother. Because I said so.”

“Ah, BUT!” Oliver gave him a very Slytherin-like smirk, making Percy frown at him. “ _You_ are very intelligent and inventive and also very good at both Potions and Charms. I’ll bet that, given the appropriate time, opportunity and resources, if anyone could come up with a way to make it possible, it’d be you, Perce. Just think of what an enormous deal it would be to medical magic! Your name’d go down in history, even. And then you would be perfectly free and capable of giving birth to my adorable Scottish babies.”

Percy was fiercely shaking his head, as though doing so would keep Oliver’s _absolutely absurd_ arguments away from him. “No, no, no! I _REFUSE_ to let you hypothetically impregnate me. It’s the principle of the thing!”

“So, what? You don’t want to have my babies, then? Is that what you’re telling me?”

Oliver gave his best kicked-puppy face, but Percy just nodded solemnly. “Yes. That is exactly what I am telling you.”

“What’s wrong with my babies, then?” Oliver asked, actually feeling vaguely insulted. Which was ridiculous, but honestly. His babies would be _awesome_ , thank you very much.

Percy gave him a look, telling him that he could tell pretty much exactly what Oliver was thinking. “Apparently, their father is a little bit soft in the head. I’m terribly afraid it might be genetic.” He shook his head in mock-sympathy. “It’s tragic, really.”

Oliver pouted. “You’re mean.”

“Your point?”

Such a Slytherin thing to say, that, Oliver reflected. Stupid, Slytherin Percy. “I shouldn’t even _want_ you to have my babies. Since you’re so mean and all.”

The other boy just looked at him for a minute, one eyebrow cocked. “Probably not.”

Oliver continued to pout for a while and Percy rolled his eyes again. The idea that the other boy might actually be taking any part of this conversation seriously enough to take genuine offence at it was ludicrous, frankly. Of all the things to sulk about. Percy decided to ignore him instead of continuing to perpetuate Oliver’s waste of time of a debate. He opened his Potions text again. He stared at it for a moment, attempting and failing to focus, and then closed it. He glanced back at Oliver. “Did you still want a snog in the Restricted Section, then?”

It was amazing, really, how quickly the brooding look dissolved into a wicked grin. “Oh, yes.”

Percy nodded, getting up from his chair. “Alright, then.”

A few minutes later, as he leaned back where he had been shoved against a bookcase while Percy nipped a line along the underside of his jaw and his own hands snuck underneath robes and down towards the redhead’s arse, and both of them were breathing heavily, Oliver couldn’t help but add one last point. “We really would have adorable, brilliant, athletically-gifted kids, you know,” he panted. “Freckled ones.”

Percy rolled his eyes, pulling back slightly from Oliver’s neck. His hands carding lightly through his hair, Percy ground his hips into Oliver’s, smirking at the squeak-like sound Oliver made in response to the action. “Well, if you really want them that badly,” he said, one of his hands releasing Oliver’s hair and trailing slowly downward, “someday I might be able to put some thought into that mystical male-fertility potion you seem to be putting so much stock in my abilities to invent. If, you know,” Percy’s right hand slipped down to tug playfully on the button on Oliver’s trousers, “you agreed to be the mum.”

The redhead gave him an amused, expectant look and, distracted by the very distracting presence of the other boy’s very distracting hand, Oliver felt himself beginning to relent.

“… I suppose I might consider it.”


End file.
